


Baby, You're Much Too Fast

by ConsultingWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Au!lock, Friends to Lovers, Harry isn't an alcoholic, John doesn't even know what that is, M/M, Multi, NO Mary bashing, Other, Sherlock isn't bitter, Sherlock isn't on drugs, Sherlock isn't so cold, Street Racing, Teen!John, Teen!Sherlock, Teenlock, Younger Sherlock, drag racing, emotional cheating, innuendos, more tags as I think of them, realistic development of a relationship, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriter/pseuds/ConsultingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen!lock. </p><p>When John saves Sherlock from being arrested by the police, a quick friendship is formed. But what what happens when the friendship becomes something more? Will John take a chance on the beautiful boy he'd come to know or will he stay with Mary, his girlfriend of almost five years? </p><p>Warning: This is a realistic development of falling in love with someone while being in a relationship with someone else, so there is a fair amount of John/Mary. </p><p>  <i>“Let’s go.”</i><br/>“Where?” John asked instantly, all the while berating himself mentally for bowing so easily to this strange boy’s whims.<br/>Odd colored eyes—where the silver? Blue? Green, possibly?—slid to meet his and one shoulder lifted lazily “Anywhere.”<br/>John smiled. He could handle that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to be so long. It was also supposed to be just a really long oneshot after it left the relm of "quick oneshot". Now, this should only be 2 chapters and I hope to get the next one up by tomorrow morning, but if that doesn't happen, I'm going on vacation next week and I'll post the chapter when I get back.
> 
> As always, its unbeta'd. 
> 
> Also, I'll give my first born for some fanart for this. *hint hint*
> 
> Quick Note!: When I say "fishing" here, its another way to say scaming/hustling

The sun sank down behind gently sloping hills as a black Volkswagen Beetle—1963, it's black paint gleaming in the setting sun painted the portrait of a proud owner who was meticulous in their upkeep of the car— crept down the road, headlights off, to the meeting point specified in the text. Behind the bug an old red Chevrolet followed.

“This is gonna be bitchin’ Johnny!” The Beetle’s passenger—Bill Murray—shouted, pumping his fists in the air excitedly.

The driver, a short blonde named John—not Johnny, and he would one day drive that point home to Murray, even if he had to beat it into him—, shot the other teen a glare out of the corner of his eyes “I’m going to need you to shut up Murray.”

“Aw, come on Johnny! Don’t be mad, I didn’t know!” the darker haired boy pleaded, nudging the other playfully in the shoulder.

John’s grip tightened on the wheel before it relaxed, it wasn’t Bill’s fault—not really—he was the one who’d….fibbed…about his plans for the evening to Mary, but still; Bill shouldn’t have been running his mouth.

“I’m not mad you stupid wanker, I’m nervous.” John said instead.

Bill snorted “If only Mary could hear her darling sweetheart now, cursing at his best friend like a _commoner_.”

John rolled his eyes but said nothing about his friends mocking stress on the last word.

“Seriously Watson, she thinks you’re a bloody prince who can do no wrong. Does she even know where we’re going tonight?”

Silence was his answer.

The darker haired boy let out a mocking gasp “Does she know that her high class gentleman used to indulge in the horrific practice of _smoking_?”

“Shut your mouth Murray, or I’ll shut it for you.” The driver threatened only half-jokingly.

The darker haired boy held up his hands in surrender and mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“Thank you.”

Bill was quiet for about five minutes before he opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” John warned, switching back into first gear.

“No, seriously Johnny, how has Mary not noticed the drag radials?”

John cleared his throat “She thinks I just bought the wrong size when I replaced the rear tires.”

“And you’re not going to correct her.”

John shrugged reluctantly “She doesn’t care that much either way.”

Bill hummed but didn’t have time to say anything before they come upon a group of cars pulled over on the side of the road, their drivers leaning against the hoods and doors casually.

John cranked the window down and killed the engine “It looks like some kind of car magazine contest for the next Richie Rich.”

Murray snorted in agreement, eyes wandering over the competition as John pulled the bug over beside the rest, red Chevy following behind “Looks like we’re in the business for some quick cash tonight.”

“Definitely more money than sense,” a feminine voice confirmed.

“Hey Sarah,” Bill purred, blowing a kiss at the leggy brunette who was leaning in through John’s window, she shot him a two fingered salute in return.

“You wound me baby doll.” The dark haired teen moaned, placing a hand over his heart and swooning back in the seat.

“Good,” the girl shot back, stroking a hand down John’s arm “After you’re finished tonight, why don’t you come back home with me, and I’ll let you rev my engine?” She whispered throatily, leaning down a bit more to let her decently sized breasts peek out from her V-neck shirt.

“Ah, come on Sarah, you know Johnny’s a one _ride_ kind of guy,” John’s older sister Harry chuckled from behind “if you’re feeling lonely, however, I’m sure Clara wouldn’t mind sharing our race track with you for the night.”

Sarah giggled as Harry slipped a hand the back of her shirt and ran a finger around the bottom edge of her lacy bra.

“And that was more flirting than I’d ever wanted to hear from my sister, ever.” John interrupted loudly. He paused and then added “And can we give the racing innuendos a rest?”

“Quit being a square Johnny, we all know you and Mary are driving in the same race, stop being so prudish.”

John straightened in his seat, lifting his chin stubbornly “What Mary and I are or aren’t doing is none of your business _Harriet_ , and I just told you to leave off with the car innuendos.” He didn’t bother to add on that his name was John, not Johnny; he’d been fighting that battle since he was seven and he hadn’t made a dent in her forces yet, so he was quiet resigned to loosing that war when it came to his sister.

“Always such a gentleman, I bet you’re a bore in bed.” Harry quipped, giving her brother a once over.

“Okay, one: that’s creepy, and two: it’s none of your business!” John protested, face screwing up in disgust.

A voice behind them cut in before the conversation could continue “If you’re going to race tonight John, you’d better get over there.”

John flashed the new comer a smile, behind Sarah and Harry stood Clara, Harry’s (much) better half.

“Thanks Clara,” he said, pushing his door open as Sarah backed away.

He took a step towards the group of guys huddled a few meters away before pausing “We shouldn’t have any problems, but you do know what to do if the cops show up while I’m racing, right?”

His friends nodded. They all knew what would happen if they were caught racing on public streets, and the plan was to take off in Sarah’s old pick-up at the first sign of trouble while John would follow behind in his car as quickly as he could.

“Yeah mum, we got it, thanks.” Murray replied with an eye roll, John was ever the care taker, and it was no surprise to anyone that his plans for the future involved medical school.

John nodded his head, ignoring the mum comment, and made his way over to the huddle of boys—a mixed group really, of kids barely old enough to drive to men in their late twenties—ready to draw for his race.

Only one boy (besides Murray, who was still attempting to flirt with Sarah) wasn’t huddled in with the rest, but instead was casually leaning against the passenger door of silver BMW, he was tall and even from a distance John could tell the boy was quite handsome, and the posh suit he wore only added to his appeal.

John dismissed him, however, and focused on the group of sneering drivers as he stepped up to the huddle.

“Oh? What’s this?” a man tall, slightly chunky, young man sneered.

“Looks like someone’s just taken their training wheels off and they think they’re reading for the big leagues.” Another sneered, he was younger than the first and actually looked to be about John’s age but he was obviously the Alpha male of the younger group.

“That’s a good one Seb!” Yet another cackled.

John still remained silent, unintimidated by the sneering men or their expensive cars.

“Hmm, so quiet?” ‘Seb’ crooned.

This time it was one of the older men that piped in “I heard that was something that happens sometimes, poor people not being able to talk; I think it’s because they’re too stupid.” It was said in a stage whisper, and John rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I thought we were here to race, but if you’re just here to run your mouth, could you let me know? I don’t fancy spending my night listening to you waste air.” The short blonde finally said, crossing his arms over his chest.

The group paused and stared at John with a borderline disbelief, what a cheeky little bitch.

‘Seb’ sneered “What are we racing for, pink slips? Because I don’t want that shit heap you’re driving.”

John pulled a wad of cash out of his back pocket and waved it “That’s good, because the only thing I want from you is your parents money.”

The other man waved his hand dismissively “Boring,” his eyes swept over John’s crew before the narrowed in on Sarah “How about this, if, on a stroke of luck you win, I’ll give you double the amount that you have in your hand, but when I win, the brunette babe over there comes home with me.”

John stuck out his hand, even if he lost—unlikely—Sarah would rip this arsehole’s bollocks off and wear them on a chain like a necklace, “Deal.”’

Seb’s sneer widened—and John took a moment to be faintly amazed, he hadn’t thought it possible—and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the silver BMW that the lone male was leaning against “Seeing as that’s what you’ll be racing against, I’ll wish you luck; you’re going to need it to not be completely humiliated.”

“If you insist,” John murmured politely. With that he spun on his heel and took off in a jog to his car.

The fishing was going to be good tonight.

* * *

 

“You’re going to lose,” Sherlock says casually when Sebastian approached the car.

The other man twisted his face into an ugly smile “I’m paying you to sit here and lock pretty, Sherly, not to give your unwanted opinion, but hey, if I want your freaky voodoo ‘deductions’ or whatever you call them, I’ll be sure to ask.”

Sherlock frowned and pushed and strand of curly hair out of his face, if he didn’t need money for a new set of beakers and a microscope so badly (Mummy had cut off funding for his experiments after he’d blown a hole in a wall in the west wing) Sherlock would explain—in great detail—the many ways Sebastian was a complete and utter moron; including—but not limited to—the fact that his girlfriend was cheating on him (with his father), he was never going to make it into a decent medical program (which was going to lead him into a bitter life of banking in which he would constantly have to bribe his way to the top and into inner circles), and that itch in his genitals wasn’t a poison ivy rash like his girlfriend had told him.  He held his tongue instead and made his way to the improvised “starting line” to do exactly what Sebastian was paying him to do, be a glorified—if not masculine—flag girl.

He moved to stand between the two cars, listening to difference between the soft purr of Sebastian’s engine revving and the loud growl of the other man’s round looking car, and raised his arm, white patch of cloth held pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Giving Sebastian a smirk—he was going to enjoy watching that smug idiot get his arse handed to him—he counted down from three, dropping the white handkerchief as the word ‘go’ passed his lips.

It was a quarter of a mile between  the start and the finish, and they were already half way there, Sebastian was ahead by a bumper, but the blonde driver was coming on quickly and was soon to overtake him. A trill of satisfaction ran down Sherlock’s spine, he was right; Sebastian was going to lose.

* * *

 

John hit the clutch and shifted gears smoothly, smiling to himself as adrenalin pumped through his veins. This. This is what he needed. His smile widened as he glanced over to see the horrified look on his competitors face as John slid by. John—feeling a combination of unbelievably cheeky and slightly vindictive—threw the other man a wink before let his foot push the pedal that little bit more that he needed, speeding past the longer car and passing through the barrels that marked the finish point.

Swinging his door open he stepped out and leaned against the side, watching with amusement as ‘Seb’ slammed his hands angrily against the steering wheel over and over before jabbing at the electric window crank. When the window had rolled down enough, the other male chunked the thick wad of cash at John rudely before rolling the piece of glass back up and turning the car around quickly, throwing loose bits of pavement up at John.

John frowned but climbed back into his car, he was 500 quid richer and he hadn’t even been out here for an hour.

The sounds of sirens made him freeze, fuck.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he slammed the door closed and threw a look into the rearview mirror to make sure that his sister and friends were leaving, they—along with everyone else—were speeding in the away from the sirens. All except the handsome posh boy, who was standing on the side of the road, watching as his friends sped away in —John couldn’t see his face, but the blonde could guess it was shocked, what kind of friends would take off like that?— horror. John clenched his jaw, let out a string of curses, and slammed his gear shift into reverse—hand thrown over the shoulder of the passenger’s seat and neck twisted backwards—speeding backwards towards the panic frozen teen.

Slamming on the brakes, John reached across the car and threw open the door, yelling a hurried “Get it!” at the other boy.

John didn’t even wait for the strange boy to close the door before he threw the car back into drive and punched the gas.

He slid his eyes to look at the boy out of the corner of his sockets “John Watson,” he introduced calmly, lips titling up slightly around the edges.

The dark haired boy returned his greeting with a full on head turn and an intense stare, “Sherlock,” he returned after a moment, leaving off his last name.

“Well, Sherlock,” John said in a friendly manor “you have shit friends.”

The other boy snorted in surprise before letting his eyes roam over John, reassessing the short blonde “I don’t have friends, Sebastian—the brain dead money leech you beat—paid me to come out here and be ‘eye candy’ I believe is what he called me.”

John could practically here the quotation marks around eye candy and let out an amused sound of his own, but didn’t say anything else because, really, what could you say to that?

“Did you get your money at least?” John asked. An affirmative hum was his answer.

Silence fell over them long enough for it to startle John when the other boy broke it with the sudden demand of “Teach me how to drive.”

It took two long blinks for John to process what the boy had said “Okay.”

Wait.

What?

That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all “Wait, why?”

Sherlock heaved a put upon sigh but answered anyway “Because I’m bored, and this doesn’t seem quite so terribly mundane.”

He would regret this, he was fairly sure he would. Still, John couldn’t help himself when he answered “Okay.”

The moment a smile stretched across the other boy’s lips John knew he was in trouble. What kind though, that was still to be determined.

John almost hit the brakes when it occurred to him “How old are you anyway?”

“Seventeen,” was the quick response.

The blonde teen smiled slightly “Liar.”

“I’ll be sixteen in a month.” The darker haired boy huffed, crossing his arms across his chest; obviously annoyed John had caught and called him on his lie.

“Honesty is the best policy, Sherlock,” John chuckled out.

“Oh John,” Sherlock breathed wonderingly “What is it like in your tiny brain? It must be so easy to be so dull.”

“Excuse me?” John managed to sputter out, not really as offended as he probably should be, “You don’t know anything about me!”

Sherlock sighed heavily, as if the entire conversation was now draining him “I can tell,” he started slowly before speeding up, the words rushing like a raging river out of his mouth “that you’ve been accepted into the university of your choice, and that you’re studying to be a doctor, surgeon if I’d have to guess, most likely trauma surgeon. Your family is poor but that doesn’t bother you at all, you’re proud, actually, of how hard your parents work to get what they have, and they’ve passed that on to you, the desire to work hard and be proud of what you have. Admirable, if not a bit boring, I suppose. Rugby playing in school, and you’re currently dating someone but they weren’t there tonight, which leads me to conclude that she knows what you were doing tonight and doesn’t approve, or more likely, that you don’t think she’d approve so you just haven’t told her about you’re weekend hobby.”

The younger teen sat back and braced himself, both mentally and physically, when John was silent for a moment before letting out a sigh.

“That….” John started, but trailed off “Was amazing. Absolutely bloody fantastic! How did you know?”

Sherlock blinked “I…you think so?”

“Of course I do! Absolutely brilliant that was.”

“….That’s not….” What I expected “What people usually say.”

The blonde furrowed his eyebrows as if he couldn’t quite comprehend how people could say anything different “What do they normally say, then?”

“Fuck off freak, sometimes fag, depending on the person.”

John was quiet for a moment before he snorted. It was only a split second before he was letting out full, belly deep laughs. Sherlock joined him with light chuckles.

John Watson might not be as dull as he’d originally thought. Interesting, very few things made him rethink his conclusions, and John Watson might just be the first person ever to fall into that category.

“Seriously though,” John managed to gasp out after his laughter had subsided “How did you know all of that?”

“Letter on the dash, an acceptance letter that you go weeks ago, but instead of throwing it away it’s been neatly folded and placed somewhere you could keep it close to you, therefore, you obviously got into the university you’d desired and wanted it close as a constant reminder. It’s clear you worked hard to get where you are, your proud that you’ve managed to get into Uni, unlike Sebastian and his friends who knew they’d be getting acceptance letters no matter what, thanks to generous donations, because you’ve kept the letter period, instead of throwing it away as one would if the perceived achievement of getting into college didn’t mean much to them. Next, you’re career choice, the way you interacted with your friends, and the fact that they fled quickly when the police came but you don’t seem upset or angry that they left without you leads me to the assumption that this was all preplanned and that if you were caught—for whatever reason—you didn’t want them to ‘go down’ with you. So, protective and a need to take care of those you identify as weaker than you—see also the fact that you risked yourself to ‘rescue’ me even though you’ve never met me before. What’s a job that will allow you to take care of the weak? Doctor, but you need action, adrenalin, hence racing, so, what can you do that allows you to take care of people and gives you that rush you need? Trauma surgeon. Simple. The part about your family was a bit of guess work based upon previous conclusions, but it was a good guess to. Rugby player, I can see the gear in your back seat in the rearview mirror and you’re physically fit, so I can safely conclude that it doesn’t belong to the other male you drove up with. Simple.”

John was completely floored; Sherlock got all of that from the things in his car?

“How’d you know about Mary?”

“Ah, the girlfriend, earlier I observed that you were being accosted by the brunette who drove the truck that followed you here and she’s quite attractive based on normal standards but you refused, although you did glance at her breasts a few times in admiration, clearly not gay than, but you didn’t follow up on the interest because clearly you have a high sense of what’s morally right and wrong and you’d never cheat on your significant other.”

“That’s seriously amazing.” John said finally.

“Simple deduction John, anyone could do it if they observed their surroundings properly.” The dark haired teen said with a wave of his hand.

Sherlock smiled a little uplift at the corner of his mouth, and relaxed back into the seat, uncaring of where John was taking him.

With a click John turned the radio up and began singing along with the song that was almost halfway over, he was surprised when Sherlock joined him, but didn’t stop his crooning to comment.

“Put us back on the train, o-oh-oh, back on the chain gang.  The powers that be, that force us to live like we do, bring me to my knees when I see what they've done to you.”

Together they continued to duet the song, John’s low tenor pitch blended pleasantly with Sherlock’s deeper baritone. When the song finished John cracked a smile “You listen to The Pretenders?”

“Indeed, my mother has all of their vinyl albums in pristine condition; I assume your mother was the same?” The second part was uttered lazily, as if the younger teen couldn’t be arsed to deduce it for himself. 

John chuckled “Not quite, Mum was a total groupie, claims Chrissie Hynde is her woman crush; Dad’s convinced that if she were to show up tomorrow Mum would run away with her.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the offhand way that John dismissed his mother’s ‘woman crush’ and the homosexuality that John’s dad so casually implied. Most men would be rather upset if someone implied that their mom was a lesbian or bisexual.

He dismissed it with a huff, John—and his family, apparently—was getting more puzzling every time the older male opened his mouth. 

* * *

 

Sherlock, John could tell, was nothing but a mass of tightly coiled energy waiting to unleash itself upon the world. It was in every move he made, from the way his leg shaking—heel tapping out a quick and steady rhythm against John’s floorboard—to the way his finger’s twitched at the knuckles, this was someone who would never be able to take it slow. He was probably perfect, then, to be a racer—if he could keep focused. It was something else that John had noticed; Sherlock was also so….scatterbrained. He would jump from topic to topic, swiftly moving through ideas, switching them out whenever one point would bore him, even if that meant John couldn’t keep up with the conversations the younger teen seemed to be having. Someone who couldn’t stay focused on being behind the wheel didn’t need to be in the driver’s seat at all, they were a danger to themselves and everyone else on the road.

When Sherlock would get tired of talking to himself he would sing whatever classic rock song that played on the radio before sinking back into his own thoughts, sometimes he even made it through the song before his mind called him back in.

When John finally brought the car to a stop and opened his door, Sherlock didn’t take any notice. He rolled his eyes and killed the engine before climbing out and making his way to the passenger’s side. The small paved track was empty, the perfect place to give this a try.

Giving the window a knock he rocked back on his heels and waited for the dark haired teen to startle. He didn’t even twitch. Pursing his lips John pulled the door open and gave the younger male a rough shake, jostling him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Sherlock snapped, whipping his head to glare at the person who’d interrupted his thoughts only to blink when his eye’s met the dark blue pupils of one John Watson.

“You said you wanted to learn to drive, so get your arse out of the seat and get behind the wheel.”

Sherlock blinked, stunned, before a wide smile stretched over his face as he vaulted out of the door, barely missing a collision with John as he did so.

John chuckled at the other’s enthusiasm and calmly slipped into the seat unlike Sherlock, who threw himself into the driver’s seat excitedly, quickly adjusting it to accommodate his longer legs. The switch was difficult to pull up on and Sherlock shot John a look, right eyebrow raised in question. John fought off a blush and shrugged, the seat hadn’t been adjusted since John had bought the car; John had never let anyone else drive it before.

“Well go on then,” John motioned at the steering column with his hand “start the car.”

Sherlock did as he was told, twisting the key in the ignition before looking back at John, waiting for the next set of instructions.

“Brake pedal is on the left, gas on the right, step on the brake and shift into drive.” John explained patiently, it would make sense that a posh boy like Sherlock wouldn’t have the faintest idea about driving; he was probably chauffeured around everywhere.

Long fingers wrapped around the head of the gear shift and pushed his forward.

“Now let of the brake and ease on the pedal, when we get going push it down a little more.”

John grinned to himself at the way the younger teen’s lips curled in delight as the car started forward, picking up speed as he slowly pushed the pedal down closer to the floor.

“When you get to the curve up here, start slowing down, going too fast around corners can cause you to roll the car, or wear out the brakes if you slam on the too hard too fast in an attempt to slow down while you’re taking a corner.”

A slight inclination of the head was the only sign Sherlock gave of hearing John, too focused on the task at hand to give anything else.

John braced himself against the door as the car flew around the bend in the track too quickly even in its decelerated state.

When John turned to critique the other boy’s handling of the turn only to see a frown marring his face.

“I did what you said but it was still too fast, why?”

John shrugged, “Sometimes you’ve got to keep decelerating even through the curve to keep the car under your control, remember, it’s possible to take a corner to slowly but that’s pretty damned hard, and erring on the side of caution never hurt anyone.”

Sherlock nodded and accelerated through the straight away but started tapping the brake lightly yards away and he continued to slow even through the curve.

It was a lot better than the first time and John told him so, which caused the darker teen to grin.

“Switch gears,” John commanded, and ten explained how, only getting halfway through before Sherlock waved him away and took over, shifting from second to third gear; it wasn’t the smoothest transition but at least he didn’t grind any gears.

John egged Sherlock into speeding up, telling him to take one more lap and then he’d show Sherlock how it was properly done.

When Sherlock brought the car to a stop he turned to John, engine idling, with an eyebrow lifted as if to say ‘Well?’

“Not bad,” John hummed “for a beginner, but shove over young padawan, watch the master you will.”

John sighed almost sadly at the blank look Sherlock shot him “Yoda?”

The look reminded blank, “Star Wars?” John tried.

“Ah, movie, never mind,” he back peddled when the look started to morph into a confused glare; John got the feeling that Sherlock didn’t like not knowing things.

John climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down his window, gesturing for Sherlock to do the same. With a grin and a whoop, John cranked the stereo up and punched the gas. Laughing at the quick, high pitched, shriek Sherlock let out as the tires squealed, leaving black streaks on the pavement.

The dark haired teen slapped a hand over his mouth, light pink dusting his high cheek bones while he glared daggers at the older boy.

The bass of the song caused the speakers to thump out a rhythm and wind whipped in and out of the car, rustling his gear in the back seat and tugging at his hair.

He shifted gears and took the curve fast and high, leaving for a smoother turn then Sherlock’s first even though it had been quite a bit slower.

John turned his head a bit to try and catch the other boy’s eyes but Sherlock had them closed, head tilted back and an expression of peace painted over his relaxed features. The blonde grinned at pushed the car to go faster, he knew that feeling.

A loud pinging ring startled the both of them and John fumbled with the radio dial, trying to silence the music. Once it was off his hand scrambled for his phone which was sitting in the small cubby hole underneath the radio face. It was Harry.

“Talk to me,” was how John answered the phone, aiming for nonchalance; Harry was kind of like a shark, she could hear fear and nervousness, and John knew he should’ve called sooner but hanging out with Sherlock had managed to drive standard procedure from his mind.

“Where the hell are you?!?” She shrieked down the line, causing John to wince and pull the mobile away from his ear.

“Ah, I’m,” he glanced at Sherlock, whose face was screwed up in annoyance—eyes still closed but a fierce scowl twisted at his lips—he was obviously not pleased at the interruption (John assumed that it had disturbed Sherlock from his thoughts, the younger teen had pulled lesser versions of that face during the ride over when John would break the stretching silences and when the radio station would break from the music to run commercials or the DJs would talk, he would then shift and mutter; once more sinking into his head) “hanging out with a friend. “

“Oh, ‘hanging out with a friend’ are you!” she sneered mockingly “Well thank fuck you had time to pick up a friend after running from the cops!”

“Er, well, about that…”John tried, unsure of how Harry would take him hanging out with a ‘silver spoon fed, silky knickers up his arse, rich boy.’

“What did you do John Watson?” His sister snapped.

John pulled a face but answered anyway “I didn’t run and then pick him up, I picked him up and then ran…”

“What are you trying to say, exactly?” her voice was deadly quiet but John pushed on, not about to let himself be intimidated by his sister.

“I’m saying that the person I’m hanging out with was at the race, he hitched a lift with me when his ride took off and left him.”

Harry was silent on the line and Sherlock was started to squirm restlessly in the seat. John turned the radio on at a low volume as a distraction and the younger teen settled down, fingers tapping along to the beat.

“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood you,” Harry’s voice was tinted with forced pleasantness.

“No, no, I think you got it,” John shot back just as politely “I’ll be back soon.”

With that he pressed the ‘end’ button and tossed it back into the cubby hole.

“John I need to borrow your phone,” Sherlock demanded and John turned an incredulous look on him; Sherlock couldn’t have said that before he’d put it up? A thought hit.

“Don’t you have a mobile?”

The other boy sighed heavily; John’s dullness would be too much if he wasn’t such an interesting puzzle, “It’s in my pocket.”

John blinked, looked at his phone, and blinked again before rolling his eyes and pulling it out and handing it to Sherlock. His phone was in his pocket and therefore he couldn’t use it; because that made so much sense.  Somehow it fit in with everything else John had learned about the younger teen. He’d always heard genius came with eccentricity and if Sherlock was anything to go by, that rumor was true.

He watched as the dark haired male sent off a few texts before tossing the phone back at John with a casual “Let’s go.”

“Where?” John asked instantly, all the while berating himself mentally for bowing so easily to this strange boy’s whims.

Odd colored eyes—where the silver? Blue? Green, possibly?—slid to meet his and one shoulder lifted lazily “Anywhere.”

John smiled. He could handle that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this story is actually starting to piss me off with how long and out of hand its getting. It was honestly supposed to be a little teenlock oneshot. 
> 
> Also, I'm having problems with the pacing if you think I'm going to slow or to fast and glossing over things, let me know please!

The next Monday John pulled into the school parking lot but before he’d even put the car in park Harry was out and slamming the door behind her, she still hadn’t forgiven him for hanging out with a ‘posh brat’. Not that he needed her forgiveness; the sooner she realized that the better off they’d be.

As it was, John frowned at her back as she stomped away and stroked a hand across the interior of the door she’d slammed. He wished she would remember that the car was decades older than the both of them and should be treated with more respect than slamming doors, fast food being left in the back seat, and muddy sneakers propped up on the dash.

A knock on the window startled in out of his mood. He smiles when he sees Mary waving at him on the other side of the glass.

Waving at her to go around he leans over a pops the door open, pushing it open enough for Mary to catch it with her hand and pull it wide enough to slip into the seat before closing it—in a polar action to Harry’s—gently behind her.

“I’ve decided,” she announces with a sense of great importance “that it’s okay that you told me you were going to spend Saturday evening with just Harry; some bonding time with your sister, I get that.”

“In my defense,” John tried “When I told you that, I thought it _was_ going to be just me and Harry, everyone else just kind of decided to invite themselves along.”

The reminder made him frown. It was the truth, but it’d still made him seem like a liar to Mary when Bill—in all his infinite bad-timed big mouthiness—had bounced up, babbling a mile a minute about their plans for the weekend.

“Which is why, I forgave you.”

John grinned and leaned over, stealing a kiss that was longer than a peck but too short to turn into anything serious. He licked his lips when he pulled away “Cherry?”

Mary pursed her lips and opened the door, climbing out of the car, when she was out she leaned down and stage whispered flirtily “Raspberry,” with a wink.

She closed the door and walked away without waiting for John to follow her. He watched her walk away, eyes lingering on her perky bottom; it really was very lovely and fit nicely in his hands when he slipped them into her back pockets to cop a quick feel. He had the best girlfriend ever, well, she would be, if John could tell her about the racing without fearing about how she’d react (it would be poorly, he just knew it); but no one was perfect, and John was sure it would work itself out in the end.

With a sigh and that thought in mind, John pulled himself from his car and threw his messenger bag over his shoulder and made his way into class.

Halfway through lunch his phone vibrated in his pocket and John furrowed his brows, wondering who would be text him at this time of day; everyone he knew was with him in school.

_Bored—SH_

He blinked, SH? Who was SH, and how did they get his number. After a moment put the mobile pack in his pocket, deciding that it was unimportant.

_Jooohhn! I’m bored!—SH_

Okay, well that discounted the wrong number theory.

_John!—SH_

The blonde almost smacked himself in the forehead when he realized who it was. Of course he would’ve gotten John’s number when he’d borrowed the blonde’s phone the other night.

**_Sherlock?_ **

_Ah! John!—SH_

_Entertain me.—SH_

John rolled his eyes at the demand but answered the text anyway.

**And how shall I entertain you my Lord?**

_Come and get me—SH_

**_I’m in school, Sherlock._ **

_So?—SH_

_Come get me—SH_

What a demanding thing, John thought to himself with a small grin. He glanced at the clock and then back at his phone, which buzzed again.

_John!—SH_

**_Okay, okay, where are you?_ **

He couldn’t believe he was letting himself be ordered about like this. His eyebrows hitched when Sherlock sent him the address that John needed to pick him up at. Public school. Of course. Rich bastard.

Pulling his back over his shoulder he shot a quick text to his sister

**_Feeling ill, headed out._ **

 He didn’t wait for a reply before taking off.

* * *

 

Sherlock threw himself into the passenger’s seat with a huff.

John raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Well then, someone had their knickers in a twist.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

John almost choked on his own saliva.

“What?” It wasn’t a screech, but it was pretty close.

“Oh, don’t be dull John.” Sherlock said, head lolling back against the seat “It’s a simple question.”

“No, Sherlock, I haven’t, and neither should you.”

“Why?” The dark haired boy asked as if it were a legitimate question.

“Because it’s dangerous!” John shouted, unable to comprehend what was so hard to understand.

“So?” Sherlock snapped back, annoyed at the other boy’s tone “Being in this car, right now, can be considered dangerous, but you’re here anyway; besides, I have a hypothesis that cocaine could quiet my mind.”

“You want to take hard drugs to what? Stop thinking? What the fuck Sherlock?” A small amount of disgust leaked into John’s voice without his permission, but he couldn’t help it. Sherlock wasn’t the only person John had known that had been curious about drugs. Unfortunately the last person he’d known had tried them, and John had found him a year later, skinny and aged and dead from an overdose.

“You don’t understand John!” Sherlock shouted, long fingers reaching up and tangling in his hair in a painful grip. “My mind never stops! Where normal people’s minds are like the engines that power model airplanes, mine is like a jet engine with a jam, it keeps running but it’s tearing itself apart. I refuse to let myself by torn apart by my own mind!”

John is quiet for a moment “So you’d rather let drugs do it for you?”

“Anything is better than the boredom John, anything.”

John considered the other boy’s words for a moment, trying to see things from Sherlock’s point of view.

“Well,” he finally said slowly “What are things that keep you from being bored?”

“My experiments, puzzles,” he paused and then as an afterthought added “driving, driving wasn’t so tedious.”

John nodded “Focus on those then, your experiments, puzzles…” he trailed off, thinking about what sort of puzzles could keep the genius entertained. Surely the younger wasn’t talking about jigsaw puzzles? “Have you ever thought of trying your hand at amateur detective work? Finding lost things or trying to solve small time thefts?”

Sherlock stilled, churning the idea over in his head before turning to John with a wide—for Sherlock, anyway—grin, “Oh John, intelligent you may not be; but you are, without a doubt, the most luminous conductor of light. A detective! Brilliant!” His body wiggled in the seat as if he wanted to jump in sheer excitement.

“Oh, I just saw an unsolved—well, not unsolved, technically, as the police have deemed it an accident (wrong, of course, but what can you expect from the Yard these days?)—murder in the paper the other day!”

“Sherlock,” John interrupted before the dark haired man could truly get started “I don’t think that’s how it works. You can’t just waltz in and tell everyone they’re wrong, you’ve got to build credibility, start small and work your way up. It might be ‘dull’ or whatever else you want to call it, but won’t it be worth it to get to the big puzzles eventually?”

Sherlock frowned but John continued “Patience, Sherlock, is something you’re going to have to learn or else your mind really will tear itself apart. Now then, why have I just ditched class to come get you?”

Sherlock huffed and slunk down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest “Because school is boring, what’s the point in going to class if I already know everything?”

John rolled his eyes, he hadn’t known the other boy for more than a week, but he could tell that dealing with Sherlock was almost like dealing with a toddler most of the time.

“Because,” he explained patiently “The law says you have to, at least for another month, but” he tacked on, before the other boy could pounce “the Yard is less likely to accept help from a dropout then someone with a college degree, yeah?”

The other boy pursed his lips but conceded the point.

“Well,” the blonde said after a moment of silence, trying to pull the younger out of his sulk, “now that we’ve both ditched school, why don’t we go do something fun?”

“What assuredly dull activity did you have in mind? The _movies_?” Sherlock spat out the word movies as some would say ‘root canal’ or ‘diet’; with pain and disgust.

John hitched an eyebrow in reply and shrugged “I thought we could find some unsuspecting souls to hustle out of their money, but I’m sure whatever you had in mind would be cool too.”

Sherlock paused, cocked his head, and grinned a wide, almost sinister smile “I might be able to warm up to that idea, congratulations John, you’re not completely boring all the time.”

In the back of his mind John thought about how offended he should be and registered with a small amount of surprise that he wasn’t bothered in the slightest by being insulted by Sherlock.

“Maybe I’ll even let you drive,” he said instead before clicking the radio on, the shark’s grin Sherlock gave in response made John chuckle. The younger male obviously enjoyed the taste of adrenaline and excitement he’d gotten last time he’d driven John’s car and John had a feeling that they were already on their way to an exhilarating friendship.

He wouldn’t realize until years later just how true that little hunch had been.

 

* * *

 

 John frowned as he browsed the store, Sherlock’s birthday was in a week and, despite how little the other boy cared about the day, John wanted to get the dark haired teen—who had quickly become his best friend, surpassing even Bill (who he’d known for ages)—something nice.

He was about to give up and leave the shop when something on the top shelf caught his eye, it was glinting as sunlight shining through the shops window hit it. Pushing himself to the tips of his toes to reach, he carefully closed his hand around the object. The ends were hard and smooth while the middle was thinner and cold.

Upon closer inspection it was a small rectangular magnifying glass. The ends where black plastic that slid together to protect the glass center.

John grinned, remembering Sherlock’s intentions to be a detective. Surely this would come in handy for that.

He’d almost made his way to the check out when he saw something that gave him pause. A small shelf of ‘flavored’ condoms sat innocently in the far corner of the shop. He fiddled with a pack labeled ‘blue raspberry’ with a small smirk. He was sure—based on her recent choice of lip gloss—that Mary would get an absolute kick out of them.

With his purchases in hand, John handed to the shops single counter. The woman standing at the counter—two or three years older than John—didn’t say anything about his items while she was ringing them up, but when she handed him back his change she did so with a wink and a throaty ‘have fun.’

 John sent her a smirk and an equally low “Oh, I will.”

The ringing of his phone interrupted John from his studies—anatomy, studying hormones—and John grinned when his caller ID flashed ‘Mary’.

“Hey pretty lady,” was how he answered and he could practically hear her eye roll.

“Hello handsome,” she purred in reply “Guess what you’re doing this Friday night?”

“What?”

The crass, teenaged hormone laced part of his brain hoped her answer would be a sexily whispered ‘me.’  

Her response of “Spending the night at my house, my parents are at are in Scotland until Monday,” was close enough.

“I can do that, I suppose, if I have to,” he teased.

“Oh, what a magnanimous gentleman you are dear.”

“I do so try, my lady.”

This is what he loved about his relationship with Mary, the easy banter and jokes, the way that sex was there—and it was good, it was fun and affectionate and hot—but it just a bonus instead of the main focus of their relationship, unlike with many couples their age. Their warm friendship made up for the fact that there would always be a part of him that he couldn’t tell her about, one that she’d never approve of but it was something—the races, the adrenalin, the freedom, the thrill of the danger of possibly getting caught— that he couldn’t give up yet, or the fact that he wasn’t sure how their plans for the future would fit together. It was enough for now, and John enjoyed every minute of it.

He grinned to himself as he ended the call, Friday and Saturday he’d spend with Mary and then Sunday he’d swing by the library where Sherlock was sure to be, buried under books (something about bee’s, John had tuned Sherlock out after the first thirty minutes).

When Mary slid into the passenger’s seat the first thing she did was tangle her hand with John’s. The blonde smiled and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the top.

She looked so beautiful in her dark blue skinny jeans and white tank top, dirty blonde hair pulled into a loose bun.

“Look in the right pocket of my bag,” John said, wiggling his eyebrows.

When Mary pulled out her small packet she let out a laugh, light and tinkling.

“Well, I can guess what you had in mind for this weekend.” She said amusedly.

“They’re raspberry.”

“Oh, oh that’s _lovely_.” Mary purred, opening the small box to pull out a single wrapped condom.

“Wanna pull over somewhere private and use one now?”

John froze; Mary wanted to _have sex in his car_? The thought was uncomfortable, like sandpaper on his skin.

“I, how about we wait? Don’t want to get caught.” He quickly lied—something inside him thrilled at the idea of shagging where they could get caught, but the idea of it being in his prized possession made him feel off.

Mary’s wicked grin softened into a small smile and she leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, “You’re always so sweet John.”

 “I try.” That earned him a shove to his shoulder.

* * *

 

 Sunday morning saw John stretching, naked, in Mary’s bed, room smelling faintly of sex, with a trail of hickeys from the base of his neck to the top of his groin.

Mary had enjoyed the raspberry condoms more than John had originally anticipated she would.

Leaning his body over hers he caught her lips with his, slowly kissing her awake. He chuckled when a smooth, hairless leg came up to wrap around his hip. He ran a hand from her knee to the top of her thigh stroking the soft skin as they continued to kiss.

Finally he pulled away with a sigh “Sorry, I’ve got to go, see you Monday?”

Mary groaned sadly and let her head fall away from his, it landed on the pillow and she let out a disappointed huff.

“Call me tonight,” she demanded.

“Of course,” and with that he captured her lips with his for one more quick kiss before leaving the bed to gather his clothes.

* * *

 

 Sherlock was tucked into an empty corner of the library and John grinned when he saw him; books piled all around him, some open and others closed.

John sunk down into the chair across the table and slid the small wrapped box with Sherlock’s present in it across the table but didn’t say a word, knowing the other male was aware of his presence but was too caught up in what he was doing to acknowledge him.

It was another hour before Sherlock pulled his head out of his book, but John was unconcerned. Instead he’d pulled one of the thinner books in Sherlock’s pile towards himself and began to read, prepared to wait until Sherlock was finished with his book.

“John.” Sherlock finally said, glancing up from his book.

“Hey,” John said, nudging the box a bit closer to Sherlock.

“What’s this?”

Sherlock picked up the box and looked it over carefully, but John held up a hand to stop him before he could make any deductions.

“It’s a birthday present, just open it, yeah?”

The younger male nodded slowly and carefully pulled the wrapping away from the box.

With a careful hand he lifted the lid from it and glanced inside. A small smile twisted at the corners of his lips as Sherlock carefully lifted the magnifying glass from the box.

“Impressive, John,” he murmured turning the rectangle over in his hand.

John rolled his eyes, Sherlock had no idea why John had handed him a box with a magnifying glass in it.

“It’s a present Sherlock, for your birthday.”

Sherlock blinked and his hand tightened minutely around the plastic and glass rectangle before relaxing, fingers lightly, almost reverently, running over it.

“Thank you John, no one has ever given me such a useful gift before.”

The blonde knew that was Sherlock’s socially stunted way of say that he liked it and smiled. It grew a little more amused when a light blush stole across those high cheek bones.

Sherlock looked at John and hesitated, clearly thinking something over, “John would you…would you like to go collect honey with me? I found a technique that would allow me to collect it from a wild hive with a minimal amount of stings, and I think I’ can improve it so that I can eliminate the chances of being stung to none.”  

“Yeah, I’d like that, let’s go.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he scrambled to put the books he’d pulled out up.

They were making their way to the door when John suddenly paused “You’ll be the one collecting the honey, right? Because I’m not okay with being stung.”

Sherlock ignored him and continued on his way towards the car. John heaved a sigh and frowned, that did not bode well for him, but trotted after the strutting brunette anyway. If Sherlock was involved it was bound to be an adventure. Besides, if John was honest with himself, it was hard for him to think of anything he’d rather do then hang out with his best friend.

* * *

 It all started to come apart about two months later, and if John would’ve known that beforehand, he would’ve made sure he was equipped to weather the oncoming storm; as it was, once the hurricane hit he was completely unprepared.

It started, as John supposed those things often did, with an innocent decision—and years later, when he’s sliding a ring onto the ring finger of Sherlock’s left hand, he’ll briefly wonder what would’ve happened if he hadn’t made the decision to let Sherlock into his house day (and more importantly, the decision to let him stay that evening) before shaking it away and basking in the knowledge that there was nothing better than what he had, no one more suited to him than the genius who held John’s hands in his own, tying them together with the words “I do”—one of the simple choices in life such as a  ‘yes or no’ or perhaps even a fork-in-the-road ‘left path or right path’ moment.

John’s life altering decision—he’s fairly sure, thinking back on it, that this was the one that set him on a completely different path then the one he’d been traveling—was made on a Friday night in the middle of Spring.

John shifted on the couch to lean against the arm; Sherlock was perched like a vulture on his other side, with Mary beside him with her knees drawn up to her chest.

John couldn’t believe Sherlock had crashed his date. Well, actually, he could. The ‘bored’ text he’d received should have tipped him off. What he really couldn’t believe was how completely unbothered by the great git inviting himself along he was.

“I don’t understand, John,” Sherlock piped up with a frown during _Summer Nights_ “He’s lying about having intercourse with her, you can tell by her skirt and the way she folds her socks over that she’s a virgin.”

John chuckled “He wants to seem cooler to his friends, so he’s lying about getting a leg over with this girl he met on vacation.”

“And his friends believe that? How stupid can they be? The fact that he turns his collar up in such a fashion is clearly an act of hype-masculinity; coupled with his bragging, it should be clear to them he’s lying in an attempt to make himself seem more of an alpha-male. However this pack mentality that this group of males seem to have is quite fascinating, I should conduct a study on it.”

With that in mind, Sherlock settled back into the couch, following the movie very carefully from that point on, occasionally interrupting the silence to make an observation or to point out an inconsistency.

During _Grease Lightin’_ Mary stood suddenly and, when John looked up to see what was wrong, gave a pointed look towards the kitchen.

John frowned but followed her, leaving Sherlock watching the movie and muttering about the strange idol worship the men seemed to have for the car they were building as well as the shared delusion they seemed to be having.

“Why is he here, John?” Mary started in immediately.

“He showed up Mary, what was I supposed to do? Tell him to leave?” John returned with a frown, crossing his arms.

In response Mary planted her hands on her hips and shifted her feet to widen her stance “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do John! Tonight was supposed to be a date night! We were supposed to go into town, have a nice meal, and then catch a film. Instead we’re eating cheap take out and watching _Grease_ , with your friend; one I haven’t even met before.”

“You love _Grease_.”

“That’s not the point, John,” the repetition of his name made John shift, she was really upset about this “we aren’t even sitting together, I’d like to lean against you—maybe even have you curl an arm around me—but instead I’m leaning against a couch cushion because your _friend_ ,” she spit the word “decided he wanted to sit beside you to get ‘ _an optimal view of the telly, John’”_ she dropped her voice in an attempt to mimic Sherlock “after he’d already chose to crash our date!”

John floundered but didn’t have a chance to regain his footing before Mary dropped her arms and sighed, bringing up a hand to rub at her forehead.

“I’m going home John, enjoy the rest of the evening,” with that she turned and made her way to the door, leaving John to hurry after her.

He handed Mary her coat and opened the door for her. She sighed and stopped right outside of the doorjamb “Maybe we can try again tomorrow?” She asked, extending a peace offering. One John gladly snatched up.

“I’d like that,” he said and barely refrained from leaning in to kiss her goodnight, knowing the action would not be appreciated “Goodnight Mary.”

She returned the farewell and made her way down the drive to her own small vehicle.

When her tail lights disappeared from view John went back to the sitting room, settling down once more beside Sherlock, who immediately flopped sideways, pillowing his head on John’s shoulder.

The blonde knew he should have been freaked out by his friends oddly romantic gesture, but he wasn’t; instead he took the gesture as what it was meant to be, one of comfort and affection, an apology—or as close to one as Sherlock would give—for ruining John’s date with Mary. In return—a sign of accepting Sherlock’s apology—John raised an arm and rested it on the couch back, curling it to let his fingers brush gently across the darker haired boy’s shoulders.

Sherlock only removed himself from John’s shoulder when the film’s credits began to roll. He stands casually from the couch and makes his way up the stairs, heading to John’s room, leaving the blonde to take care of things in the sitting room by himself.

The older teen rolled his eyes but cleaned away the cups and take out containers off the coffee table and threw them into the sink and trash bin respectively. He also put the DVD back in its case, turned off the telly, and checked the locks before he headed up the stairs himself.

Sherlock was digging through his desk drawers when he got to his room but John honestly hadn’t expected anything else from the nosy bastard and let the younger boy continue without a word. Instead he grabbed his nightwear—and old rugby shirt that was a size too big and a pair of hideous green boxers (a gag gift from Harry the Christmas before) that said _Jingle These_ with little bells printed all over—and made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower.

When he returned to the room Sherlock looked up from whatever papers he’d found to rummage through and scanned John’s attire, raising an eyebrow when his eyes reached the boxers. John wondered if he should feel awkward that his friend—his best friend, most likely—had obviously just read the words that were so cleverly situated right over his junk, but Sherlock drops his eyes back to the stack of papers in his hand, clearly uninterested and John shrugs it off and moves farther into his room; he was fairly sure Sherlock wasn’t much interested in sex and all its entrappings anyway.

“You’re thinking of joining the army.” Sherlock says suddenly, eyes flashing back up from the papers in his hand.

John shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other and rubs the back of his neck, he hadn’t actually told anyone about his plans yet.

Sherlock frowns “You’ve already decided to join,” he corrects himself.

“I…yeah, I need to Sherlock,” he tried to explain “I won’t be able to pay for medical school otherwise, and I just, I want to do something useful with my life.”

Sherlock looked at him for a long moment with unreadable eyes and a blank expression before nodding, just once, carefully.

“Have you told Mary yet?” There was something about the way that Sherlock said Mary’s name that made John’s eyebrows draw closer together, but he ignored it. For the moment, at least.

“I—no, I’m not sure how to tell her.” John admitted, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed and burying his head in his hands “I don’t think she’s going to take it very well.” He finally admitted, and Sherlock hummed.

“No, I suspect not, it doesn’t fit in with her plans for the future.”

John’s thoughts came to a halt and his head snapped up “Plans? What plans?” he managed to stutter out, Mary had never talked about the future with him.

Sherlock frowned one of his ‘how can you possibly be so stupid?’ frowns but laid out his conclusions for John.

“You’ve been dating Mary for over four years John, since you began puberty, and she’s expecting you to propose soon. Most likely before you even enter Uni. Afterwards she’s planned to get a teaching certificate while you become a Doctor, after which she wishes to have children, two—possibly three—before retiring at a healthy old age with you to the country, Sussex, if I’m not mistaken.”

John chocked. Marriage?  “I don’t—I can’t, what?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes “No one expects you to marry her now John, well, no one besides Mary, everyone will say you’re too young for that ‘kind of commitment,’ so you might as well put it out of your mind for now.”

John collapsed against the bed, like a puppet with his strings cut. He adored Mary, and she was one of his best friends, but did he love her? Enough to get married? It caused his stomach to burn and his throat to tighten but he didn’t….he didn’t know. She was his friend, and he enjoyed their relationship greatly, but he didn’t know if he held the kind of tender passion he saw in his parents’ eyes when they looked at each other.

He rubbed his head tiredly but decided not to worry about it any longer; he’d have that discussion with Mary when she brought it up, and not a moment sooner.

“Are you through rummaging through my things?” he asked the dark haired boy instead.

Sherlock made an affirmative sound but continued to dig farther into John’s desk, obviously no longer paying any attention.

John rolled his eyes and dragged himself into his bed and under the covers, he could deal with life tomorrow, he was too exhausted to think about it anymore that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Review and kudos!  
> My tumblr is NoSwordsForLittleDragons.tumblr.com if anyone wants to message me or anything (or if you want to be my friend...)


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